AC smirked. “I think it was a chair we threw in. And the woman behind the bar.”
Tristan looked at us, wide-eyed. “Oh shit. Maybe it was there. Never mind. We’re older and wiser now. It was an ugly chair, anyway.”
AC looked out the window. “Older, for certain. I’m tired.”
We pulled into the hotel a few minutes later. The entrance looked like a private home, except for the strange shield-shaped neon sign. We pulled in, and there was someone at the door almost instantly. Nothing like a limo for attracting attention. The car stopped and the door swung open. The man welcoming us looked a bit like he’d been lost in the sun for a little too long at some point, but he was perfectly friendly.
“Checking in, Mr…?”
Tristan smiled, and ran his hand through his hair again. “Mustang. Reservation for one of the bungalows in the name of Mustang.”
The guy did a stellar job of hiding the smirk just enough. “Mustang. Yes, I believe we have that ready for you now. Let me get your bags.”
Tristan nodded. “Cheers mate.” Then he gestured to me, a bit panicked. He came over. “Lily? Do you have any cash? I wasn’t prepared for all this. Forgot about the liquid asset part.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” I fished around in my bag, but AC was already there, slipping the man some money. He waved at us. Tristan looked instantly relieved.
AC came up to him. “Living in the bubble too long, man.”
Tristan laughed. “Yeah, yeah, tell me all your problems by the pool.”
We all went inside and stood around awkwardly while Tristan signed for things, keeping an eye out for curious guests, then Tristan went out to arrange the pickup with the driver for tonight. Finally, the same man came to lead us to the bungalow. Tristan was about to wave him away, but AC grabbed his arm. “Don’t let them know you remember this place. They might remember you,” he whispered dramatically.
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Fine.” So we followed the man to the windowed building, and let him describe the amenities, the bar, the outside seating, which towels to use for the pool, and how to call for the concierge at any time, day or night. When he got to showing us the DVD player, AC exclaimed, “Perfect. We have some DVDs…” Tristan glared at him. “Of the tour. The tour. To watch.” I was trying not to laugh, but at the same time it was the only way to deal with the weirdness we’d had to put up with over the past 24 hours. Giggling, I pulled AC to come show me the view of the pool, and we watched Tristan thank the guy and shut the door behind him.
“How much of a tip did you give him? For fuck’s sake. The DVD. Fuck.” And he started laughing. “How the hell did we get to this point? Do you remember how it happened?”
AC sat down on the sofa. The view out the floor to ceiling windows was of the pool, a collection of unfamiliar trees, the other shaded bungalows. He had a thoughtful expression on his face, even if the fatigue made him look more dissolute than usual. He shook his head, and pushed back an escaping curl. “We’re incredible?” He breathed in. “Honestly Tris, I try not to think about it too much. That way lies madness. After Devised split…” He trailed off. “I’m just happy to be here. Life doesn’t like it when you ask why. Full of reasons why not.” He stood up. “I have a fast metabolism. And the wet bar is calling my name. Anyone else for a bottle of wine and a drunken float in the pool? Come on, we made it this far.”
“Living the dream.” Tristan’s voice was teasing but he looked sad, like he’d just been reminded of all things he wanted to forget.
“Damn straight. And you better lock up those DVDs before anyone gets curious. Promotion, my second skill. No, third. Now what goes well with vegetarian breakfast, at,” he looked at his watch, “9 a.m? I think there’s an amusing little white in here calling my name. Lily?”
I jumped up to help him. I didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid either.
* * *
So here we were. The last show of this leg. I’d made it, through secrets and Tristan’s unpredictable behavior. I’d had Trevor encouraging me to take a break, and head back to NYC, and AC asking me to stay. And I’d stuck it out. And I’d had that one moment in the limo, with the toast to the line from the Devised song, “to everything, and all the rest.” Devastatingly simple words, which in that moment transformed a lyric into an indelible bond between the three of us. A long, long road. 3500 miles of it. And I felt like I’d worked every mile. But now, watching them at the end of the encore, bowing and waving to the crowd, it really did seem as easy as they made it look. One of the roadies ran out on stage with two bottles of champagne, and gave one to Tristan and the other to AC. They popped the corks to general cheering, then like a couple of leather-clad race car drivers, shook the bottles hard and starting spraying the audience and each other. The people in the front must have taken a direct hit. Everyone was shrieking. And the two of them stood there, brandishing the bottles, side by side, simply watching the crowd. Tristan coaxed another few cheers out of them, then went up to the mike. “Thank you Austin! You’ve been beautiful. We will see you next time.”
Dripping champagne, they both waved to the crowd and started walking off. AC stopped, drank from the bottle to more applause, and threw an arm up in the air behind him in a final wave as he walked off stage, the last person to disappear into the wings. I stood there watching as the die-hard fans kept cheering until the house lights came up. It broke the spell, having to squint into the light, the black floor sticky with beer and discarded cups. The ones that always left a little bit before the end never saw this. They would already be in the parking lot, away from the crush. The audience filed out, shuffling along, revealing more of the floor, except for a guy and a girl standing off to the side, still gazing at the stage. They were holding hands. For a minute, I thought it was Melanie. I blinked to clear my vision, but when I looked again, one of the staff had asked them to move on, and I couldn’t see her face. I hoped it was her. Whoever it was, they had found someone they could share their passion with. I turned away from the brightly lit theatre. I knew that wasn’t an easy thing to find.
The after-party seemed to be starting already, the backstage of the venue filled with people drinking and laughing. This wasn’t even the official one. Tristan had promised to attend everything, after a short conversation with Annie on the phone a few hours before the show, while we were relaxing in the room. Apparently their biggest worry was that the star would self-destruct one way or another, or worse, not do any promotion. So Tristan had sworn to sign everything that was put in front of him, and shake everyone’s hands. Kiss all the women. Whatever they wanted. I could tell he was tired, and sarcastic and slightly bitter about the whole thing. But Annie obviously didn’t do sarcasm, and whatever he had said, she’d taken at face value. Besides, he’d meant it. Most of it, anyway. AC had dragged him out to the pool after the phone call, Tristan’s posture a little more tense than it had been before. But now they were doing the rounds, fixed smiles on both their faces.
Watching them I remembered I needed to check in with Dave. A quick phone call over the noise of the party, and I’d found out what the hustle they’d run on James was. Apparently it was all Trevor. I wasn’t surprised. It seemed Trevor had mentioned to his PA that he needed some likely lads to play a part. To set a little trap for someone that needed to learn a lesson, learn his place in the scheme of things. When he’d mentioned James’ love for hacking intrigues and easy money, she had told him that she had some friends who would be perfect. So he’d taken them all out to a good dinner, they’d figured out the details of the scheme over the brandy and cigars, and Trevor had provided the seed money, and a small fee. I knew, or I hoped, I’d get more of the story out of Trevor directly but I couldn’t resist asking Dave. “So it was a scam? They weren’t even hackers?”
Dave had chuckled. “Lily, who knows. Trevor told me that her friends had seemed extremely knowledgeable. But the
y claimed they were pretending. All in fun. Trevor’s no fool. If he said he didn’t want to know, that’s your answer.”
He told me to hold on, and I heard him speak to someone in the background. Then his voice was back. “Anyway, you made it. Congratulations. Enjoy the last night. And relax. Call me when you’re back in New York. Ciao. And give Tristan and AC my best.” I was about to say something when the line cut off. I was left with the silent phone in my hand, and the sounds of clinking glass in the distance. Dropping my phone in my bag, I took Dave’s advice and went to join the party.
I got a drink, and said hello to a few people. But the proper after-party was in some club somewhere. So after Tristan and AC had gone to clean up, we all headed outside. They appeared and signed autographs for the crowd of the faithful waiting. One of the security guards helped us to the street, and we climbed in the limo.
The intercom came on. “Good evening boss.”
Tristan laughed. “Have you moved to Austin now? I thought you were heading back to Dallas.”
The driver didn’t seem surprised. “They said you still needed a driver out here for another day. I’m in a motel. I figured what the hell. Nothing much going on at home anyway.”
Tristan shook his head, even though the driver couldn’t see him. “Well, good. Nice to know who’s up front. I appreciate it. I’d invite you to the party, but that’s the whole point—you’re not supposed to be drinking.”
“It’s ok. Thanks boss.”
AC looked at Tristan. “Another day.”
Tristan grinned at him. “Yeah. I figured another night of poolside living couldn’t hurt.” He put his arm around me. “You’re staying, right?”
AC shrugged, but his eyes were bright. “Maybe I will at that. That model in L.A. is going to be so disappointed.”
Tristan put his hand on his knee. “As your physician, I recommend a day of rest if you’re going to be shagging three models a day. Or one model three times a day. Or two models one and a half times a day. Wait, that’s wrong. No wonder I keep losing money.”
AC put his hand over Tristan’s. “Good advice doc. Now tell me. What’s a half-shag?”
“There’s a joke in there. Give me time.”
AC leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “All the time you need. I’ll be over here.”
“Bastard.”
AC lay over us. “My real name must not be spoken. Now remind me what crap I’m supposed to spout tonight if we want more hotel nights. At this point, you’ve got me where you want me. I’ll say anything.”
“Just the usual. I’m wonderful, a genius, best thing that ever happened in your life…”
“Usual lies, full version. Got it. Invoice you in the a.m.”
Listening to them, there was a part of me that almost wished for one more insane night on the road.
chapter twenty
Austin to New York
The last day in the hotel felt like a long goodbye. Tristan and I were due to head to NYC for a few days before going out to California. AC had always planned to go directly to L.A. He spent most of his time, apparently, these days, on the west coast. I realized I had no idea where he lived, if he had an apartment somewhere, or if he drifted from place to place, staying with friends for a few days, before moving on. It hadn’t mattered before, not that it would be an easy question to ask. But I had a feeling I knew the answer anyway, from something he’d said. We had all been sitting at the table in the morning having breakfast. AC had looked at both of us, before stabbing a bit of French toast with his fork. “This is nice. Something new and something old.”
Tristan had glanced at him. “Ok, I’ll jump. What’s new and what’s old? Don’t say me. Or Lily.”
AC kept cutting little pieces of French toast, but didn’t say anything else. Once all of it had been carved up into small squares, which were remarkably uniform, I thought, he impaled one on the end of his fork, and twirled it in the air. “No, not that. Just it’s nice having breakfast with people I’ve known longer than a few weeks. A few days. Hours. That’s new.” He chewed thoughtfully.
“So what’s old?” Tristan asked.
“Knowing I’m leaving tomorrow. Not being entirely sure where I’ll be after that.”
A terrible look crossed Tristan’s face. “Shit, AC. Why didn’t you say? I thought you were heading off to see that woman, what was her name? Heidi? Heather? Heather in leather? What happened?”
AC laughed. Now he was making two little stacks of the French toast squares. “Helene. Heidi. Really?” He picked up two squares with the fork and examined them carefully. “This food is really pretty good. No, I am seeing her. I think. Not sure I’m in the mood for your average model star-fucker, though. How jaded is that?”
Tristan quickly put his hand on AC’s forehead. “Are you sick? Damn. One day off. That’s all it takes.” He ran his hand through AC’s blond curls. “Come with us then. A couple of days in New York. Cure you. No dragging anyone back though, mind. A home’s a home.”
AC raised his eyes and the two of them exchanged a silent communication. AC broke away first, and looked over at me, then back at Tristan. “No, you two need some time. And I did promise. Besides, I’ve got to sort out some shit in L.A. Think I need to store my stuff somewhere more permanent than some junkie guitarist’s garage, you know what I’m saying?”
Tristan shrugged. “Fine. After the big show crap, you’re coming back with us to the city. Don’t say no. We’ll arrange it later.” He looked him up and down. “Now stop playing with your damn food and eat it. You look too skinny. I’m going to start having to look for your coke stash, and you know how that ends up.”
“Yeah, up your nose. Besides, you like me skinny.” AC winked at me. “But what about Lily here? Don’t you think you should ask her first? She does, you know, like live with you. Might want her opinion on this.”
I jumped in before Tristan could say anything. “No, it’s cool. We don’t need any of those couples’ talks in the bathroom.” Tristan snorted. “You are very welcome as far as I’m concerned—and it’s not my house, anyway.”
AC leaned over and picked up my hand, and kissed the top of it, gently, theatrically, while gazing at me from under his long eyelashes. “Nomads, isn’t it right? To our soft landings.”
Tristan grabbed my hand away. “Don’t make me change my mind. ‘Nomads.’ Drama queen.” He kissed the same hand, then pulled my arm around his neck. “Don’t make her leave.”
AC shook his head. “Not a chance.” He pushed at his plate. “Come on, last day. Let’s go hang out in the pool for a while. All this talk of the future is making me anxious. And you know what happens when I get too anxious. I can’t swim if I drink too much.”
And we spent the day doing nothing. Swimming. Sitting by the pool. A couple of the other guests definitely recognized us, but whether they wanted to protect our privacy or keep their cool and their distance, I couldn’t say. It was hard to believe only a couple of days ago, we’d been constantly surrounded by people, most of whom either wanted something or were there to keep too many from wanting too much. We all regarded everyone else warily, were happier when they went away, and even more pleased when we retreated back into the bungalow for a bottle of wine, the door closing tight behind us.
We wound up ordering dinner from somewhere the hotel recommended. I didn’t even pay attention. It was good, without being memorable, but the idea that we had nowhere to rush off to was the real draw. Tristan inspected what AC was eating and told him he had to eat more. He even picked up a forkful of food and sang a little song about hungry birds until AC obediently opened his mouth, chirping, and ate it. Tristan laughed, pleased.
Somewhere out there was the real world, some hard place, with its details and demands. But for the moment, in the soft warmth of a room we probably would never see again, none of it mattered.
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br /> We opened another bottle of wine and went over to the living room area that faced the pool and the trees. AC picked up his guitar, and began strumming some soft chords. I stretched out and listened to him sing a couple of Neil Young songs, my eyes closed, wondering how life could really get this easy. Tristan suggested another one, this time Simon and Garfunkel, and the two of them began to sing together. Their voices, away from the stage, and the demands of singing over the electronics, and the crowds, and the drums, were more subtle. Still powerful and rich, but with overtones and a warmth that could never be transmitted over and through the speakers. Part of me still wished I had something to record it that would do it justice. But some moments are just that—ephemeral, born to be experienced, and not captured. I sat up and poured more wine, and sat cross-legged on the sofa, watching them as they tried to figure out the exact chord for a Nirvana song, watching them laugh as they teased each other. “You’re diminished, you muppet,” Tristan said, giving AC a one-armed hug and a quick thump around the head, as he went off to get some water.
At one point they started trying to think of any song they had ever liked. One of them would sing the first few lines, before deciding they couldn’t be bothered to work it out, and moving on to the next one. Then AC picked out a few notes and said, “Kate Bush. You like her, right, Lily? Come and sing on this one.”
I felt my face go red. “Yes, I like her. No, I can’t sing.”
AC stood up and pulled at my arm. “Come sit on the floor next to us. You’ll hear the notes better through the vibration of the guitar. Makes it easier. Come on. You’ve sung before, everyone has. Come play with us.” He pulled at me again, and grabbing my wine glass, I got up and followed him. He sat down in the chair, and I knelt on the floor by him, Tristan on my other side.
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